


Everything Comes Back to You

by TheMipstaz



Series: There's a Light in the Dark [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - No One Direction, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Asexual Character, Asexual Louis, Bisexual Louis, Bullying, Childhood Friends, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Eleanor Calder/Louis Tomlinson, This Town AU, Trans Character, Trans Louis Tomlinson, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 13:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15631242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMipstaz/pseuds/TheMipstaz
Summary: Prompt: Liam and Louis were best friends as children. They both leave their hometown for some reason (up to you as to why), and go their separate ways. Years go by and they've basically lost touch. Turns out that by now they both live in [insert city of your choice] and randomly spot each other [insert meet-cute of your choice, i was thinking on public transit or in a cafe]. As they rekindle their friendship Liam realizes he has feelings for Louis. When he says as much, Louis explains that he's asexual and Liam could do better/deserves more. Liam says okay because Louis has always known what's best, but he's still pining. They stay friends but Liam is kind of heartbroken. He makes some big romantic gesture and basically tells Louis that that's bullshit, he doesn't deserve better, he doesn't /want/ better, and if being with Louis means he'll never have sex again it doesn't even matter because he's /Louis/ and he's Liam's best friend and he loves him and that's more than enough.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radiantbeams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiantbeams/gifts).



> This is actually one of the prompts I received for the [1D Aspec Fic Exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/1daspecficexchange2) that I really liked, but ended up not choosing. But I'm always down for a childhood friends AU and I wanted to try my hand at non-linear storytelling (it's hard as fuck and I will not be doing it again probably), so here we are. 
> 
> Shout out to [Eli](http://mercuryraindrops.tumblr.com/) and [Skye](http://twistofpayne.tumblr.com/) for reading this over and offering amazing feedback! Y'all are the best. 
> 
> Title from [This Town.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ic1l36GrNOU)
> 
> As always, come say hi on [Tumblr](http://nevergooutofstiles.tumblr.com/).

Liam Payne never thought he’d miss Wolverhampton. He never thought he’d miss the boys who shoved him during bus rides or the girls who sneered rude things that he couldn’t even bring himself to repeat to his mum. He didn’t think he’d miss eating lunch by himself every day, tucked away in the furthest corner of the cafeteria. He definitely didn’t miss the way his parents’ hopeful faces fell every year when his birthday rolled around and it was only him and Andy. Again.

But after a week in Doncaster, Liam decides maybe he does miss Wolverhampton after all. At least there he knew what to expect. He could count on the boys to laugh at him when they found out he took vocal lessons on the weekends. And he knew which teachers would pretend not to notice that Liam never had a partner for group assignments.

But here in Doncaster, everyone just sort of casts him appraising glances. No one has even tried to trip Liam in the hallway yet. It sets his teeth on edge. So Liam retreats before the other shoe can drop. He eats outside when he can, even though the autumn winds have grown razor sharp. He doesn’t want to be there when the cautious smiles people sometimes offer turn snide and cruel like he knows they will, like they always do. Liam firmly tells himself that if he doesn’t expect anything, then he can’t be disappointed.

Liam meets her while sat in the crummy sandbox at the far edge of the playground, trying not to let the breeze whip too much dirt into his ham sandwich. Curled away from the gale, he doesn’t see the football soaring towards him until it collides with his back. Liam leaps up with a yelp.

“Hey, what’re you doing? That’s mine!”

When he whirls around, Liam finds himself face to face with the owner of the indignant voice. Hands fisted on her hips, the girl’s eyes flit accusingly between Liam and the football at his feet.

“Er,” Liam takes a precautionary step back, “sorry.” He’s not quite sure what he’s apologizing for, but it slips out anyway. Apologies are usually a safe bet. “But I think you kicked it at me.”

She huffs, shakes her fringe out of striking blue eyes, and stalks forward to snatch the ball up. This close, she squints at Liam. “You’re that new kid.”

Liam nods. “I’m Liam.”

“I’m Louise, but everyone calls me Lou.”

“Nice to meet you,” Liam says carefully. He doesn’t know whether he wants Louise to get back to her kick-about or not. On one hand, if she leaves, she can’t make fun of him. On the other hand, Liam has _missed_ talking to people besides a quick exchange in the halls before he scurries away.

“Oi, Louise, game’s still going!” calls an impatient voice from behind her.

Liam glances over Louise’ to see a pack of boys watching them.

He opens his mouth to apologize again, but Lou cuts him off with a sharp, “Shut it, Ian. If I want to stop and chat with Liam here, then I will!”

“This is why we shouldn’t invite _girls_ to play.” A dark-haired boy rolls his eyes while the other boys snicker.

“Yeah, well this girl’s about to stomp all over you,” Lou snarls, storming over to them without so much as a goodbye to Liam.

Liam watches her go and can’t help but feel a bit impressed by Louise’s fiery demeanor, how unafraid she seems despite being the only girl playing. She throws elbows and slides through the mud with the rest of them. When she dribbles down to the other end of the pitch and effortlessly sends the ball sailing into the goal, Liam feels a smile curving his lips. It’s still not Wolverhampton, but for a second Liam decides he doesn’t mind.

* * *

Louis tightens his grip on the steering wheel as he gets off the A638 and the _Welcome to Doncaster!_ sign flits past. It’s been a hot second since he’s been back to Donny. Throughout his years at uni, Louis came back for the holidays to see his mum and the girls. However, during short breaks, it was often easier to stay at school to pick up extra shifts at the library or tag along with Harry to intern at the local radio station. For minimum wage, Harry did little more than ogle the radio show host while Louis threw balled up papers with rude messages at Harry’s head.

When Louis did find time to come back home, he brought Christmas gifts, demanded birthday cake, and, in his second year, brandished a different name and new pronouns.

His mum took it surprisingly well. She learned to yell “Louis” just as chastingly as she did “Louise” when she caught him sneaking Clifford extra treats under the table. She apologized and corrected herself without a fuss when she caught herself slipping into old habits.

When Louis plucked up the courage to ask her about it because he could never leave well enough alone, Jay just shrugged. “Well, when I started finding more of poor Liam’s clothes in our wash than your own in year seven and I had to go over to Karen’s to apologize, I thought something might be up.” Louis flushed. “And then you went and chopped off all your hair in sixth form, and well, here we are.” Louis threw his arms around her and tried to hide his sniffles unsuccessfully in her neck.

Speaking of his mum, Louis’s phone starts ringing, and he fumbles with his steering wheel to get the bluetooth. “Hi, Mum.”

“Louis, are you nearly here?”

“Just turned onto Cleaveland.”

“Oh good, could you pop by the market? We’ve run out of things, and I know you’re going to eat us out of house and home like you did last time.”

Louis makes a noise of protest. “That was Niall, Mum, not me. Irish blokes are actually just black holes pretending to be human with a funny accent.”

“Are you sure it’s not just your Niall?”

“No, his mate, Bressie, is just as bad. Oh, maybe it has got something to do with the name Niall after all.”

Jay clucks her tongue fondly. “I’m texting you the grocery list now. See you at home.”

“Alright, love you.”

Louis is hunting down milk in Sainsbury’s when he spots a display with Jaffa cakes piled precariously high. The blue cardboard box makes something tingle in Louis’ stomach, a nostalgic tug that he can’t quite place. He pauses his frantic search for milk, having grabbed the frozens first because he wasn’t thinking and they were _right_ _there_. While Fizzy’s choc ices melt, Louis stares at the package of Jaffa cakes and wills the memory or words or whatever to come to him. It feels important, like something he shouldn’t have forgotten but did anyway. Like one of his sisters’ birthdays or buying eggs for a morning fry-up before he and Niall go out to get smashed.

“I know, two for £4 is a good deal, innit?”

Louis blinks at the voice and turns to find a kind-faced woman gesturing to the Jaffa cakes.

“I’d love to get some for my grandkids, but my daughter would kill me.”

Louis nods. “Me mum was the same when I was a kid. Very strict about sugar, she was. Still is, if we’re being honest.”

The woman grabs two boxes, slides them into her basket, and offers Louis a wink. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

While she wanders down another aisle, Louis picks up a box thoughtfully. It ends up in his own shopping cart. Later, when his mum shakes it questioningly as they put away groceries, Louis just shrugs.

* * *

“Why’re you alone all the time?”

Liam gulps and tries to walk around the boys cutting off his path to class.

“I said,” the lead boy stops Liam with a hand to his shoulder. He gives a little shove. Liam staggers. “Why’re you always alone?”

Liam looks away, mumbles, “I don’t know.”

“Is it because you’re a freak? Is it ‘cause you’re gay?”

Liam turns around, starts walking back to the cafeteria even though the bell rang to end the lunch period and class starts soon. He doesn’t know where he’s going except away from here.

“Were you like this at your old school too?” The boys follow him, jostling him occasionally. “I bet you were. Bet you didn’t have friends. Did you?” One of them gives a particularly vicious push to Liam’s back that sends him sprawling.

“Oi!” Before Liam can blink the stars out of his eyes, two hands haul him off the ground. He stares wide-eyed into a face pinched in anger, blue eyes narrowed into flints of ice. “What d’you think you’re doing?”

“Lou?” Liam watches dazedly as she dusts off his trousers and shirt. She’s not gentle like Liam’s mum, more whacking his chest and thighs than anything. Then she turns her stormy expression onto Liam’s tormentors.

“Got your little girlfriend to protect you, huh?” taunts the first boy, puckering his lips to make exaggerated kissing noises.

“Not his girlfriend,” is the only warning Lou gives. Then she cocks back her fist and clocks him square in the mouth.

He falls back with a howl of pain, hands clutching his split lip. Bright blood smears his teeth as he wails. His friends back up, eyeing Lou and Liam warily.

Liam’s jaw drops even as Lou links their arms together and flounces off, dragging a dazed Liam along. They end up sat under a tree in the play yard, wind catching Lou’s hair so she scowls and has to keep tucking it behind her ears where it inevitably whips free.

“Thank you,” Liam finally says in a small voice.

“Don’t thank me,” Louis grouses. “Didn’t do it for you. Did it because he called me your girlfriend, ew.” She shudders, nose scrunching up.

“That’s never happened before.”

“Never seen anyone get punched? Really? Well, if you stick around, you can see me do it a lot more—”

“Never had a friend stick up for me before,” Liam corrects, hugging his arms around his stomach.

Lou frowns. “Must’ve had some bad friends then.”

Liam bends his knees up to tuck his chin into them. “Haven’t had a lot of friends.” He lets the soft breeze steal the confession from his lips, but not before Lou turns to stare him. Liam shrinks under her scrutiny. His stomach squirms as he waits for her to laugh in his face or roll her eyes like _of course_ someone like Liam hasn’t got friends.

“Yeah, well,” she says after a bit, “I’m starved.” She produces a semi-squashed package from her pockets. “Want one?”

Liam uncurls himself a bit to lean over and investigate. Louis rips open the plastic and offers him a little half-chocolate-covered circle of cake. “Thanks.” Liam nibbles the edge curiously while Lou shoves the whole thing into her mouth.

“Good, right?”

Liam flinches away from the spray of crumbs, but nods anyway. He feels warm while licking chocolate icing from his fingers. But he doesn’t know if that’s from the sweet cake in his stomach or the way Lou’s still sat beside him without giving a single sign of leaving.


	2. Chapter 2

Louis learns very quickly that, in light of the upcoming nuptials, the safest place to be is anywhere but around the house. Jay and Daniel have commandeered the family room for color swatches. The florist has coated the kitchen counters in peacock tail bouquets. And when he finds a little lace doily in his pants drawer, Louis knows he needs out. So when Jay comments offhand about needing to run to the shops for something, Louis jumps at his chance. He’s not even sure what his mum wants as he grabs his keys, trips into his trainers, and jogs out the door with a, “Don’t worry, I got it.”

He sends Jay a **What am I gettin again?** text on his way to the tube. He’s so busy staring at the jumping little ellipses on his screen that he bumps into someone on his way onto the train carriage and nearly drops his oyster card. “Oi, watch it!”

“Sorry, I— _Lou_?”

No fucking way.

Louis’ head whips up at the impossibly familiar voice. But his mum’s wedding natterings haven’t finally driven him to mad hallucinations because that’s Liam fucking Payne standing in front of him—crinkle-eyed smile, sweet birthmark, and all.

“Lou, I didn’t know you were back!” Liam claps him into a tight hug, cheek pressed to Louis’ hair like the past four years haven’t happened. Like Louis didn’t go off to uni and get so overwhelmed by new people like his roommate Niall, time-consuming classes like Sociocultural Foundations of Education, and new words like _binder_ and _hormone replacement therapy_ that he kept forgetting to respond to Liam’s occasional **heyyyy** and **bombed my maths quiz ha** texts. Like, when he finally caught his breath, Louis didn’t agonize over what to respond to Liam’s picture of his new puppy for so long that Louis eventually decided it would be weird to reply now and he would have to wait for the next text. Like Louis didn’t wait and wait and wait.

“Liam, mate, how’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in—God, how long?” Louis raises his voice to be heard over the scrape and hiss of the carriage doors closing and general murmur of grumpy passengers.

“Been a while, yeah. You, um, you look good though.” When they step back, Liam scratches the back of his neck and gestures to Louis. “Don’t think we’ve talked proper since you, er, you know.” He gesticulates more helplessly until Louis snickers and takes pity on him.

“Since I stopped going by Louise,” Louis offers since he doesn’t think Liam’s poor, cis heart could take _Since I started hiding my boobs and injecting testosterone into my body every week_.

“Yeah,” agrees Liam, “since that. Your mum mentioned it to my mum. So it’s, like, Louis now, yeah?”

A warm shiver runs down Louis’ spine at the sound of Liam’s tentative tongue curling around his name like that. “Yeah, it’s Louis. Or Lou. Same as when we were kids.” It comes off a little desperate, sounds more like, _I’m the same as when we were kids_.

But Liam must hear what Louis’ trying to get across because his eyes soften. “Yeah.”

“This is my stop. I have to stop by the shops for me mum.” Louis doesn’t know why he sounds apologetic.

“But I’ll see you soon?” Liam asks hopefully. It sounds an awful lot like, _You won’t leave me behind again?_

“Deffo,” Louis says before he can think better of it. Before he can list out the myriad reasons that they shouldn’t: Liam doesn’t deserve to waste his time with someone who up and left him; Liam might find out that Louis’ transition hasn’t changed his big fat crush on Liam; Liam’s well fit now with muscles Louis could feel through his jumper when they hugged; again, Liam might somehow sniff out Louis’ huge gay crush on his straight best friend.

Liam beams.

Well shit. Now Louis’ gone and done it. How’s he supposed to let Liam down gently and tell him this was a terrible idea when Liam’s eyes scrunch up like that. When the earnest look on his face wouldn’t look out of place on a puppy. When Louis’ chest constricts with how much he’s missed this.

**How do you feel about that cafe on Frenchgate?**

**New fone who dis?**

**Very funny Lou**

**Thats wot ur mum said last night in bed**

**Because she saw your tiny willy?**

**Oi fuck u payno my dicks massive**

**Well can you and your huge prick make it to Frenchgate at noon on Friday?**

**Well be there**

Louis runs across the street to a chorus of honks, flips off a car that swerves a little too close for comfort, and catches his breath in front of the blue cafe front. Hands on his knees, Louis wheezes loudly enough from his short sprint that Niall would probably laugh at his out of shape arse. Which is distinctly unfair considering Niall only goes to the gym regularly to check out Bressie’s arse.

Louis checks his phone. Only quarter past, not too bad. Straightening up, Louis runs a hand through his hair, calmly opens the door, and hopes no one notices the sweaty sheen on the back of his neck.

“What’s a pretty face like yours doing here all alone?” Louis puts on his most charming smile as he slides into the chair across from Liam.

The crinkles in the corner of Liam’s eyes belie the kick he aims at Louis under the table. “Waiting for late wankers. Shoulda known you’d be late.”

“Shouldn’t have gotten here twenty minutes early,” Louis shoots back. He’s pleased that his hunch proves right when Liam flushes.

“Only ten,” protests Liam.

Louis clutches at his imaginary pearls. “Uni really has changed you. The Liam I knew would never have arrived anywhere with only ten minutes to spare.” Louis leans closer, squints, and prods at Liam’s cheek. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” It slips out so easily, like they’re in sixth form again, shooting the shit before Liam has to go to his maths tutoring and Louis has to go slog through more uni applications.

Louis’ breath catches in his throat, an apology for overstepping tucked behind his teeth. But Liam just laughs and catches Louis’ hand with his own. He leans even closer, lips tickling Louis’ ear, and suddenly Louis can’t breathe for an entirely different reason. “If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”

“Please,” Louis scoffs, pulling back but making no move to squirm out of Liam’s grip, “you couldn’t take me in a fight. Couldn’t do it when we were sixty centimeters tall, can’t do it now.”

Liam raises an eyebrow.

Louis scowls, but grudgingly allows himself to examine Liam’s broad shoulders. For the sake of their argument, obviously. “Fine, maybe you could, Mr. I-Taught-Myself-How-To-Box-I’m-So-Macho-Grrr. If I had one hand tied behind my back.”

“And what can I get you lads?” their waitress asks, sauntering over and flipping open her notepad.

Louis rolls his eyes at Liam’s salad, orders himself a cheeseburger, and tries not to dwell on how Liam is still holding his hand.

It felt so normal grabbing lunch with Liam that Louis forgot it was really only a matter of time before it happened. He knew he was living on borrowed time, pretending like everything was fine and dandy. He forgot about his dread of wandering around his old city with a new identity in the face of the whirlwind of the next couple days. Daniel takes him to pick up his fitted suit and finalize any last minute adjustments. Lottie demands Louis’ opinion on two identical shades of cream for tablecloths and cuffs him upside the head when he picks the wrong one. Louis nearly has a conniption when he catches Fizzy texting a boy.

So when Liam asks Louis if he’s doing anything that afternoon, Louis texts back, **fancy a trip to the florists?** and groans when he realizes how lame that sounds. Lucky for him, Liam sends back a frankly alarming number of nonsensical emojis with so much enthusiasm that Louis double checks to make sure autocorrect hasn’t accidentally invited Liam to see the Queen. Louis shakes his head fondly. Then he stuffs his phone into his pocket when Daisy skips over to bat her eyelids and ask for an ice lolly.

Liam’s waiting in front of the matcha green door when Louis arrives at the quaint flower shop. Well, Louis thinks, it’d feel a lot more homey and inviting if it lost the life-sized, naked-human-shaped gold statue perched on the first storey window sill. At least the decorative shrub it straddles hides its private bits; nothing like getting flashed by shiny bollocks at three in the afternoon.

Liam follows Louis’ gaze up and goes bright red.

Louis grimaces and opens the door, which tinkles innocently. “Just go, Payno. And don’t tell me mum.”

They duck inside. Liam peruses trinkets lining the walls. _Tchotchkes_ , Louis’ mind supplies automatically. Then he scowls when he remembers his and Harry’s ‘friendly’ game of Scrabble that only left their friendship intact because Niall threw the board across the room.

Liam inches gingerly between the cramped high tea set up, like a bull in a china shop. Louis snickers at the thought of Liam with horns poking out of his skull and turns to the main counter. Mrs. Brown looks mostly the same as Louis remembers from the times when Mark sent Louis to pick up roses for an anniversary or orchids for a dinner party centerpiece. She has new glasses frames and a couple more lines around her mouth. But she still wears the same shade of lipstick, and Louis swears he recognizes her blue cardigan.

His palms sweat a bit at the prospect of coming face to face with someone who knew Louise for nineteen years, but he wipes them on his trousers and steels himself. “Hi, I’m here for Johannah Tomlinson.”

Mrs. Brown nods along, pleasant customer service smile pasted on her face. Her heavy-lidded eyes flick to the paper files of orders she rifles through instead of raking over Louis’ face like he looks familiar. She doesn’t ask if they’ve met before.

Louis’ knees could give out with relief. Bolstered by this small victory, he continues in a more confident voice, “We’ve reserved—”

The bell on the door jingles. A new voices says, “Louise?”

Louis stiffens. He grips the counter to steady himself as his stomach lurches. Mrs. Brown peers up at the newcomer. Liam perks up, eyes alert, and carefully puts down the unicorn figurine he was examining.

“Louise Tomlinson, is that really you? Oh my God, I didn’t know you were back in Donny.”

Mrs. Brown  blinks behind her thick glasses at Louis’ face, recognition slowly surfacing as she imagines Louis’ hair a bit longer and his chest a bit fuller.

Louis grits his teeth, tries to arrange his face into something presentable, and turns around. “Ian,” he chokes out. “How’re you? Yeah, I’m back for me mum’s wedding.”

“She’s getting married? Congratulations! Give her my love.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Louis mutters. He can’t even look Ian in the face, just gets a brief blur of dark hair and freckles before he settles his gaze on something safer, a vase of chrysanthemums. God, where’s Liam so they can get the hell out of here?

“Where’re you going to uni, Louise? And, wow, you’ve cut your hair so short again. Looks just like sixth form. Still going through your lesbian phase, then?” He lets out a chuckle that invites Louis to join in on the joke.

“It’s Louis.”

“What?” From the corner of his eye, Louis can see the faceless Ian’s shoulders hunch, taken aback.

A warm hand finds Louis’ shoulder, anchoring Louis and lessening the roar in his ears. “He goes by Louis now,” Liam says firmly, hearth-warm voice gone cold.

Ian lets out an ugly snigger. “Of course she does. Still as much of a weirdo as always then. Good to know uni hasn’t changed you.”

Louis feels a white-hot burst of anger, feels his hands curl up into fists. For all that he’s spent years enduring people’s assumptions and labels, the urge to tell them all to go fuck themselves never lessens.

But then he remembers his nan’s excited face, the tender way Daniel gazes at his mum when she isn’t looking, the tight expression on his mum’s face that says, _I’m trying, but you have to meet me halfway._ And Louis knows he can’t make a scene. Not mere weeks from the wedding. Not in a small town where nobody will forget that time when that Tomlinson kid—the oldest one, the troublemaker—got into it at Floristry By Lord Hurst.

It won’t matter if Mrs. Brown witnessed the whole exchange. The gossip mill will only churn out sordid details about Louis’ volatility. People will talk about Jay’s tragic inability to raise a functional member of society instead of her radiant wedding dress. They’ll whisper about how she has too many kids instead of what a lovely couple she and Dan make.

So Louis feels the hatred and rage bubble up in his blood and forces it dormant. He scrounges up the last dregs of his patience to keep his tone even when he says, “Let’s go, Liam. We’ll come back some other time.”

Liam tenses, but obediently begins to sidle past Ian towards the exit.

However, in the confined space, they squeeze past close enough to hear Ian jeer, “Freak.”

Louis sees Liam surge forward and grabs Liam’s wrist in a death grip, all but dragging Liam towards the door. He throws Liam out of the shop, calls over his shoulder, “At least I didn’t wee myself in year five! Goodbye, Mrs. Brown,” and lets the matcha green door slam shut behind him.

Stomping down the street, Louis is already busy planning how he can best fuck Ian up once the wedding has past and he’s in the clear. “What do you think says, ‘Fuck you, wanker,’ more? Spray painting a dick on his car or finding that picture of him from Hannah’s house party, you know the one I’m talking about, and—Liam?” Louis blinks when he turns and finds Liam not at his side. He turns a full circle like a dog chasing its tail before spying Liam a stopped bit down the pavement where Louis must’ve kept walking without him. “Payno, what’re you doing?” He backtracks to tug at Liam’s arm. “C’mon, we can’t plot this close to the enemy. Get a move on.”

But Liam stays rooted to his spot, frown tugging at his lips and forehead creasing.

Louis taps his foot impatiently. “What, did you forget how this works or sommat? C’mon, repeat after me. Left foot, right foot. It’s that easy; I promise.” The joke comes out sharper than intended.

“Why,” Liam bites his lip, stares at Louis so intently that Louis fidgets. He forgot how intense Liam’s eyes could get, burning so hot Louis can’t look him head on. “Why did you let him say those things about you?”

Louis purses his lips. “C’mon, Liam,” he tries, “let’s just forget about that knob, yeah?”

“No.” Liam crosses his arms, a sure sign that Louis won’t get him to budge for anything now. “I don’t get it. I thought for sure you’d knock Ian’s teeth out. S’why I didn’t do anything at first.”

“Look, as much as it pains me to say this, and it really fucking does, sometimes beating the shit out of someone is not the answer.” Louis shrugs, tucks his trembling fingers into his pockets. “We’re not kids anymore.”

The wrinkle between Liam’s eyebrows deepens. “The Lou I knew—”

“Yeah, well, I’m not that person anymore, soz,” Louis finally snaps, shoving a finger into Liam’s chest. Liam stumbles back under the force of Louis’ outburst, the angry glint in his narrowed eyes. “In case you haven’t fucking noticed, I’m not the little girl you remember.” It tears out of Louis chest, stings like a scab picked off too soon, bleeds just a little. But it feels so good to release that small flare of pent-up emotion swirling so tight in Louis’ rib cage he might implode under the pressure. Liam doesn’t deserve to take the brunt of it. He just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time saying the wrong words.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Liam growls, shoving Louis’ hand away. “I just meant,” he pauses with a huff, gathering his thoughts and reminding Louis that he isn’t the same impulsive, young lad etched into Louis’ memories either. He’s not a lost little kid anymore, ready to follow Louis to the ends of the Earth. “I really fucking looked up to you, Lou, when we were growing up. And even now, it’s so easy to fall into that rhythm again.” Louis’ angry snarl softens at that, at the ghost of the shy kid he can see underneath Liam’s new haircut and broader frame. “I remember thinking you were invincible, that no one would dare mess with you, you know? So I just don’t get why you would let some twat walk all over you like that,” Liam confesses. While Louis scrambles to gain his own frazzled bearings, Liam whispers, “I’m really trying, Lou, with this—this gender stuff.”

“I know, Leemo,” Louis says quietly, all the fight snuffed out of him with one look at Liam’s lethal puppy eyes. And he does. He can say without a shadow of doubt that Liam’s read, possibly twice, all the links and articles Louis’ sent him at Liam’s request. Liam has listened eagerly to the feelings Louis can’t quite express as clearly as he’d like to. He’s done his best to retain new terminology and concepts. “I know I haven’t said it, but it’s meant a lot.”

Liam leans into Louis at that, nudging their shoulders together. “So it’s not a gender thing, I don’t think. No matter what you are or how you dress or whatever, I can’t believe you’d just sit there and take that crap.” Liam shoots Louis a genuinely puzzled look.

Earnest to a fault, his Liam. But this, Louis can work with. “It just,” Louis runs a tired hand through his hair, “wasn’t a fight worth having, if that makes sense. Sometimes you gotta choose your battles. You can’t fight all the time, not when everyone’s against you.”

“Now that,” Liam smiles a little, “definitely wasn’t the Louis I remember. Too wise and noble. Have you gone and become Yoda while I wasn’t looking? What happened to the Lou that was always ready to take on the whole world?”

Louis pretends to scowl. “Piss off.”

They start walking again, no destination in mind, just letting their feet scuff the pavement and kick at pebbles until Louis pipes up, “Would you really’ve got into a fight back there in Floristry?”

“Of course.” Louis’ heart does a funny little flip at how quick Liam’s response comes. No hesitation. “Just like you would’ve done for me. Have been doing for me for years.”

“You really were a pitiful thing when I found you,” Louis agrees, defaulting to levity before he can do something stupid like reach for Liam’s hand. He pinches Liam’s side instead. “Not anymore. Jesus, you ever eat anything besides protein powder?”

“You saw me have a salad two days ago,” Liam complains, squirming away.

“Even worse.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Don’t come crying to me when you get scurvy because you haven’t even looked at anything green in years.”

“Untrue! Niall’s got an Irish flag hung up in our room,” smirks Louis.

“Niall? Er, your roommate?”

It jolts Louis, the easiness of their banter shattered by the sharp reminder that they’ve missed out on years of each other’s lives. Liam doesn’t know the precise shade of blue of Niall’s eyes or Harry’s undying love for banana milk. “Yeah, I—you’ve probably seen him on Instagram. Blond lad, Irish, face gets red when he’s sozzled. Good egg, that one.” Louis scrolls through his phone camera roll with Liam peering over his shoulder, taps to open up a slightly blurry picture from their last pub crawl. “Love Nialler.” Louis doesn’t notice Liam stiffen beside him, steps faltering for a second. “Actually, you two’d get on. Niall’s studying music stuff too. You’re,” Louis looks at Liam uncertainly, “you’re still doing that, yeah?”

“Yeah, music production and sound engineering. Did some stuff for Sony last summer.” Liam shrugs modestly.

“God, wish I’d brought Niall with me,” Louis sighs. Liam bites back a frown. “His boyfriend started this label in Dublin. It’s called Cameron? No wait, Camden? I dunno, but if you’re looking for work after you graduate.”

“Boyfriend?” Liam tries not to brighten up too much.

“Well,” Louis makes a face, “not boyfriend, proper. Bressie and Niall are doing some stupid Irish ceremonial mating dance shit where they flirt and pretend not to have feelings about each other for months and months. Don’t even ask me. It’s like something out of a BBC documentary. Should ring up David Attenborough to narrate and everything.”

Liam giggles, leaning a little more into Louis’ space because he can. “Tell me about it. My mate Zayn was insufferable before he and his girlfriend got together.” Liam scrunches his face in concentration to affect his best Bradford accent. “Does m’hair look alright? Like m’not tryin’ too hard, but m’also not a sloppy idiot?”

Louis cackles. “Straight people, absolutely ridiculous, am I right?”

“Yeah,” Liam says faintly. He coughs awkwardly, feels his face heat up. “So, erm, does that mean you’re not…?”

“Use your words, Payne,” Louis teases just to watch the tips of Liam’s ears pink.

Liam punches Louis in the shoulder without feeling. “I just meant, I know you liked lads when we were in secondary school. I guess changing into a lad wouldn’t change that, sorry, that was a silly—”

“Relax,” Louis flicks Liam’s cheek lazily before patting it with a reassuring hand. “Yeah, I fancied Steve in secondary, but I also thought Bebe was well fit.”

Liam sputters. “You did not!”

“Did so,” Louis grins. “Pretty sure everyone did.”

“You never told me,” Liam accuses.

“Yeah, well, everyone thought I was a lesbian anyway,” Louis snorts bitterly. “Reckon I just didn’t feel the need to come out.”

“Lou.” Louis drags his gaze from his feet to look at Liam. “Lou, you could’ve told me. You know that right?” Louis winces at the poorly-hid desperation in Liam’s voice, can already see the guilt clouding Liam’s face.

“Yeah,” Louis sighs, spying a park bench and nudging Liam towards it. He steps on the backs of Liam’s trainers until the clouds clear out for Liam’s sunny laugh. “I know. Maybe it wasn’t you I didn’t want to admit it to. Maybe it was me.”

They settle on the hard metal slats. Liam hesitates before leaving a couple inches between them. “How do you mean?”

“I suppose,” Louis chews on his bottom lip, watches a man push a stroller on the far side of the park, “I just didn’t want to prove everyone right. It felt too much like letting them win after all the shit they put us through.”

“I dunno,” Liam says thoughtfully. “We’re here now. We know who we are, or we’re getting there at least. We’ve still got each other.” His knee knocks against Louis’. “Seems to me like we’re the ones that came out on top.”

* * *

“Lou?” Liam raps tentatively at the locked door again, like it’ll somehow make her unlock it and let Liam into the loo even though it didn’t work the last dozen times. “Lou, are you okay?”

A hiccup and a sniffle. “Go away, Liam.”

Liam blinks, completely bewildered. He tries to playback the last fifteen minutes again, tries to figure out where it all went wrong. They were upstairs in Lou’s room after school, backpacks thrown to the side in favor of FIFA. Normal. The house was empty, Ms. Tomlinson still at work. Still normal. They barely had the telly on before Louis had made a strange face. Not normal.

“Hang on,” Louis had said, slipping off the bed. She waddled awkwardly towards the toilet. “I need to wee.”

Liam shrugged. He leaned back to stare at the ceiling, wondering idly how many maths problems they had tonight for homework. Then he scratched his stomach and wondered what his mum would make for dinner. He hoped it was chicken. No, he hoped it was chili. No wait, what about spaghetti? He daydreamed about meatballs for a little bit before he blinked. Lou had really been gone for a while now, even for a poop. “Lou,” he called, “alright? Haven’t fallen in, have you?” He chuckled.

But when she didn’t reply, he frowned. “Oi, Lou? Y-you haven’t really fallen in?” He didn’t think that was a real thing, just something his dad liked to say. But Liam scrambled to his feet anyway. He tried the door handle. The lock clicked but held firm. “Lou?”

“Go away!”

“Are you crying?” Liam didn’t mean to sound insensitive, just felt so taken aback by the thickness of Lou’s voice. He wasn’t sure he remembered Lou crying ever, even when she took a hard tumble off her bike.

“No!”

“Do…do you still wanna play FIFA?”

“No. Go home, Liam. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

The Liam who first moved to Doncaster would’ve left right away, grabbed his bag and marched downstairs. Tried to find his way home even though he didn’t know the way because his mum usually picked him up from Lou’s after school.

But Liam had known Lou for years now, knew that Lou said things she didn’t mean when she felt upset. Like when she told him they weren’t friends after he had asked how come she didn’t have a dad, only to show up the next day with a Batman comic olive branch and a, “C’mon, let’s go see if we can steal Mrs. Zellmer’s cat.” It wasn’t an apology, but heartfelt all the same.

So now, Liam has a dilemma. He knows better than to take Lou’s words to heart, but that still doesn’t mean he knows what to do with her refusing to leave the toilet. Lou’s mum won’t be back from the hospital for ages. Liam can’t just sit with his ear pressed to the door and listen to Lou choke back sobs until then. Well, he could, but he really doesn’t want to.

“Lou, I just wanna help,” Liam flounders again. “Can you, like, just tell me what’s wrong? Please?”

“Just go, Liam.” Lou’s voice has lost its furious edge, deflating into something morose. “I’m—it’s really gross.”

Liam blinks, nonplussed. “Grosser than when you mixed ketchup, kipper juice, and milk and dared me to drink it?”

“Yes.”

“Grosser than when Nick tried to kiss you?”

A watery giggle. “Yes.”

Liam gasps as loudly as he can to hear Lou giggle again. “I don’t believe you. Can I see?”

A pause. “Promise not to be grossed out? Or laugh?”

“’Course,” Liam says. No hesitation.

The door handle fiddles and clicks unlocked. Liam steels himself, prepares for—what? He’s not exactly sure. But when he tentatively creaks the door open and pokes his head through, he doesn’t expect to see Lou huddled on the cold linoleum, legs tucked to her chest, arms wrapped around a bath towel draped over her knees. And then Liam sees—

“Is that blood?” he yelps, rushing in. Liam nearly brains himself on the sink, socked feet sliding on Lou’s discarded trousers. They leave more scarlet smears on the floor when Liam rights himself.

“No, Payne, it’s ketchup,” Lou deadpans, “what do you think?”

“Wha—why—are you okay?” Liam demands, running frantic hands over her terrycloth shins, forearms, grabs her wrists and stares wide-eyed at the red whorls of her fingers. “I should—where’s the first aid kit?”

“Plasters aren’t gonna help this,” Lou snorts despite herself at Liam’s panicked face.

“What’re you on about?” Liam whirls about wildly. “Why’re your trousers on the floor? We need to call your mum and—”

“ _Liam_.”

It’s automatic at this point to drop whatever he’s doing and turn his complete attention to Lou when her voice gets like that, hits that specific cadence that demands Liam’s utter focus. The buzzing frenetic energy in Liam fades to the backburner for a second.

“Yeah?”

“I’m twelve years old.” Lou speaks slowly, like she’s trying to explain two plus two equals four to a toddler. “I’ve blood everywhere. I’m not hurt.” She flaps her arms and kicks her legs like a beached, cotton-tailed mermaid. “What do you think’s happened?” She glares at him hard, like she can make it click for him by sheer force of will.

Liam frowns. “I don’t know— _oh_!” He goes bright red. He can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks. “Oh.”

“Exactly,” Lou huffs, shoving her chin tighter into the towel covering her knees. Liam can see faint brown-red fingerprint smudges in the pristine white cloth. “I know it’s gross. You don’t have to stay.” She discreetly swipes at her eyes with her wrist.

“So, you definitely don’t just wanna play FIFA and pretend this hasn’t happened?” Liam wants to make sure. “I can lend you my trousers.”

She looks at him like he’s grown a second head until Liam twitches uncomfortably under her gaze. “This is proper disgusting, mate. And you still wanna just sit around and act like I haven’t bled half to death out of my you-know-what?”

Liam feels his face is doing a rather impressive imitation of a tomato at this point, but he stands his ground. “If you want. I haven’t got another friend to beat me at this game.”

Lou’s face breaks into a wicked grin. “Beat? Payno, I’m gonna _demolish_ you.”

And that’s how Johannah finds them, sat on the floor of Lou’s room. Lou in Liam’s trousers, a bloodstain already seeping through the fabric into the towel they’ve laid out. Liam watching Lou’s face contort in concentration more than he’s watching the screen. A veritable murder scene in the loo.

Johannah just sighs. “Liam, dear, would you like to stay for dinner?”

* * *

“What’re you smiling at, weirdo?”

“Remember when we were, like, eleven, and you got your period for the first time.”

Louis makes an atrocious face. “God, you really are a weird one between us. And that’s saying something considering I once got so high I started crying and tried to fight Bressie because I thought he’d stolen Niall’s name. Then I just cried harder when I did punch Bressie and nearly broke my fucking hand.”

Liam raises an eyebrow to hide the fuzzy feeling that blooms in his gut everytime Louis offers a story about his life at uni. It always feels like a puzzle piece to tuck away for safekeeping as Liam gradually builds a broader picture of who Louis has become in the past couple years.

Louis waves his hand. “You don’t understand. Bressie’s a literal iron man. Muscles of steel, that one. Or does that make him Superman?”

Liam shrugs and hip checks Louis gently to get around him in the cramped living area. Louis thrashes about dramatically anyway and somehow ends up spilled out on the floor, like Liam bowled him over instead of tapped him with a hip. “Betrayal,” Louis bellows like the thespian he is, grasping his chest with one hand and flinging the back of his other against his forehead, “in my own home.”

“Like you didn’t invite me over,” Liam snorts. He holds up the cardstock name tag he’s supposed to be folding for the dinner table place settings. “Free labor. These aren’t going to do themselves.”

“Doesn’t give you the right to shove me aside like I’m standing between you and a sale on hair straighteners.”

Liam aimes a halfhearted kick at Louis spread-eagle on the floor. One of the twins has crawled over to tug at Louis’ hair. “Well, how else was I supposed to get the ribbon?”

“What’s all the racket about?”

“Sorry, Ms. Tomlinson.” Liam ducks his head, feeling like he’s ten again and getting chided for helping Louis sneak biscuits before dinner.

“Liam’s murdered me, Mum,” Louis groans, releasing Daisy from the headlock he’s wrestled her into so she can scamper into Johannah’s arms.

“Is that why you’ve yet to finish?” She casts an unimpressed look at the stacks of cards they still have to fold, tie a ribbon to, and alphabetize.

Liam flushes and quickly finishes tying his bow. Even Louis looks somewhat chastised.

Johannah sighs. “Well, seeing as this looks like it’ll take longer than we thought, Liam, love, would you like to stay for dinner?”


	3. Chapter 3

Lou meets Eleanor in their Introduction to Digital Media and Culture class. Lou wants to drop out by the end of week one and get her fine arts requirement with a class that doesn’t assign projects on the first Goddamn day. But then Professor Cowell tells Lou her project partner is the gorgeous bird in the front row with the heart-shaped face and killer legs, and Lou suddenly forgets why she wanted to leave the class in the first place.

Soon, Lou finds out Eleanor is more than just a pretty face. She’s smart as hell and makes a mean bacon butty after a night out. Unsurprisingly, Lou falls completely ass over tits. Niall from her Recording Techniques music class takes the piss out of her every chance he gets. He makes horrific kissy faces every time Eleanor walks into the room until Lou threatens to show the pictures of Niall in braces she dug up from the bowels of Facebook to Niall’s cute TA.

Niall knocks it off straight away.

Lou spends the next couple weeks flirting, but not too outrageously so she can claim innocence in case Eleanor calls her out. And so it goes. Lou sits closer than necessary to Eleanor during class, relishes when Eleanor links their arms to walk to lunch, puffs her chest when she makes Eleanor laugh so hard she hides her face in Lou’s shoulder, and tries not to make a complete fool of herself. Niall cackles faintly in the distance.

Lou and Eleanor smash their presentation, throwing around words like _digital natives_ and _Net Gen_ until their professor is nodding along. When they get a solid A-, they go out to celebrate. Before Lou can mourn the loss of her excuse to spend time with Eleanor and bemoan the inevitable disintegration of their friendship, Eleanor leans in to whisper whiskey-sweet into her ear, “Wanna, like, get out of here?”

Lou feels her stomach clench. But she pastes on a grin anyway. “Thought you’d never ask, love.” It feels rough, forced, like sandpaper on her tongue. It feels like a rehearsed line from a shitty television program—something Lou knows she should say, a role she has to play for a hungry audience.

They get all the way back to Eleanor’s dorm room, giggling and falling over themselves. Lou has long since given up on her strappy heels, dangles them in her vodka-and-Gatorade-loose fingers, but Eleanor has been going strong all night. She doesn’t admit defeat until she all but topples into the room. Finally, she groans and gingerly steps out of her stilettos.

“Might never be able to walk properly again,” Eleanor grimaces, throwing herself onto her bed and army crawling until she can reach for a makeup wipe on the desk shoved beside her bed frame. “And fuck the patriarchy and all that for enforcing beauty standards that cripple women, blah, blah, blah.” She scrubs at her face while Lou tosses aside her own shoes and clambers onto the duvet beside her. Eleanor extends a leg into the air, flexing her toes and bending until her knee makes a satisfying pop. “But damn, they made my calves look great.”

“Your calves always look great.” Lou rolls her eyes. She runs a hand along the smooth skin of Eleanor’s thigh until she giggles and bats Lou’s hand away. “You always look great,” Lou adds in a lower voice, nuzzles into the crook of Eleanor’s neck to press lazy kisses.

“Oi, get off.” Eleanor shoves lightly at Lou. “I need to get this foundation off my neck.”

Lou harrumphs as loudly as she can, but lets Eleanor dab at her neck with a fresh wipe. She lays back on the bed, lets the alcohol tug at her heavy eyelids. God, was Eleanor’s bed always this comfortable?

“You need to get that crap off your face too. Want a wipe?”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Fine, you big baby,” Eleanor huffs.

Lou yelps as a firm hand scrubs away her lipstick, lip liner, mascara, and whatever other products Eleanor slapped onto her face earlier. She sputters unattractively and tries to bat Eleanor away.

“Hold still, Tommo! And keep your eyes shut.”

Lou obeys because when she sticks her tongue out, Eleanor swipes the makeup-stained wipe over it.

“Okay.” Lou hears the dirty wipes thump into the bin, and then a comforting weight sprawls over Lou. The last traces of Eleanor’s perfume tickle her nose. “Where were we?” No longer sticky with matte Fig Luster, warm lips find the delicate skin Lou’s chest; gentle teeth nibble at the strap slipping off a shoulder.

“I think,” Lou runs a hand through Eleanor’s hair, fixes her stare onto a water stain on the ceiling, and blurts out the words lodged in her throat before she can lose her nerve, “we were at the bit where I tell you I don’t want to fuck and you throw me out of your room for being a loser.”

Eleanor stills.

Lou winces and squeezes her eyes shut.

“Lou, look at me.” The sheets rustle as Eleanor shifts back.

“Don’t wanna.” Lou knows she’s being irrational, knows that blocking out Eleanor’s face won’t stop her from leaving or telling Lou to get the hell out. But opening her eyes won’t stop it either, so what’s the difference really? Fuck, she really fucked this one up. But the residual haze from the fireball she drank too quickly and the joint she snagged off of James’ roommate blur her thoughts and tangle her tongue too badly to figure out how she can fix it.

“Lou, please.”

Lou gulps and slowly lets her eyelids flutter open. She watches Eleanor’s concerned face swim into view where she’s propped herself above Lou.

“Hi there.” Eleanor places a sweet hand on Lou’s cheek.

“Hi,” Lou croaks, covering Eleanor’s hand with her own shaking fingers.

“If,” Eleanor strokes at Lou’s cheek with her thumb, “if you didn’t want to do anything tonight, you could’ve told me. We can just queue up Netflix or something. I’d never want to do something you didn’t want to.”

“What if,” Lou feels her voice catch, has to swallow against her tight throat, “what if I never want to?”

Eleanor frowns. “It’s normal if you’re nervous, babe. Don’t worry. We can work up to it, go slow, and—”

“No,” Lou interrupts firmly. She pushes at Eleanor’s hip so they can both sit up. “I mean, I’m never going to be ready. I’m pretty sure snogging and hand holding and cuddling, that’s all you’re going to get out of me.” She shrugs, helpless but not apologetic. Just certain. A bit relieved for finally getting those words out of her chest and into the universe. A lot scared as she teeters on the cusp, waiting to see where they go, what happens next.

Eleanor nods slowly, bites her bottom lip in a way that Lou has to restrain herself from kissing. “Okay,” she nods more confidently, “okay, then I guess it’s a good thing you’re a fucking ace cuddler.”

“Fuck yeah, I am.” Lou opens up her arms for Eleanor to collapse into. She wonders if Eleanor can hear how painfully loud her heart beats. “What episode of _Peaky Blinders_ were we on?”

When Niall catches Lou’s smug face the next day, he crows, “I knew I saw you and El leave together last night!” and claps her on the back so hard she nearly pitches over. She knows what Niall thinks she and Eleanor got up to, but she doesn’t think it’s worth the energy to dispel his assumptions. He wouldn’t believe her anyway. Besides, _Netflix and chill_ sounds so much less lame than _Netflix and bemoan Tommy Shelby’s new haircut over pints of Ben and Jerry’s_. It’s that easy.

Until it isn’t anymore.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“It’s just a drink, love,” Lou says dryly, tossing the beer can over, “not a proposal.” She grimaces. She doesn’t know if it’s because of the crappy rap music at the house party Niall dragged them to or because of how much more callous her words came out than she intended. She shakes her head and pops open the lid of her drink instead of wondering.

Eleanor’s face contorts for a second before she smooths it into something colder, more distant. A look that Lou has become more and more familiar with over the past couple weeks. “Not that, you arse, and you know it.”

“Then what?”

“I just, you know,” Eleanor gesticulates with her can.

“No, I really don’t.” Lou mimics her action with a flat look. Her fingers itch for a cigarette, a habit Eleanor can’t stand.

“You don’t have to be so contrary all the time,” Eleanor makes a frustrated noise. “Like, maybe sometimes you should listen to what people have to say before you go off to do the exact opposite.”

Lou rolls her eyes. “I need a smoke.”

“You can’t just run away from a conversation you don’t want to have,” Eleanor snaps, trailing Lou as they snake through the crowded room to the side door that leads to a patio. At one point, Lou might’ve tangled their fingers together to ensure Eleanor didn’t get lost amongst the pulsating throng of people or pulled her close with a protective hand at the small of Eleanor’s back. Now, she walks almost too quickly for Eleanor to keep up.

Outside, Lou pushes through the handful of people and the cloud of sweet smoke to find a more private corner of the yard. “Tomlinson!”

“What?” Lou demands, temper finally snapping and voice rising. She whirls around to glare at Eleanor. “What exactly am I running from?” It feels too familiar to slip into the motions of a burgeoning fight. Lately, it feels less like fights interspersing their conversations than it feels like the in between spaces are just simmering respites for the next explosive argument.

“Me, first of all,” Eleanor says. Lou hates how measured her voice comes out, how controlled, like Lou is someone she needs to put on a front for. “But mostly yourself, I think.”

“What do you mean?” Lou mumbles around the cig tucked between her lips, slapping her pockets for a lighter. No luck. “Fuck.”

“I mean,” Eleanor pulls one from her clutch, “I feel like you’re always trying to prove yourself, even if it isn’t doing anyone any good. It’s like you just can’t help yourself.”

Lou leans in for Eleanor to light her up, but jerks back just in time to catch the lighter Eleanor throws her way before it smacks her in the forehead. “Shit, El, in case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t got the best impulse control. Remember when I licked that nasty swing because Niall dared me to.”

“Pretty sure Niall said, ‘Tommo, don’t lick that swing,’ love.”

The little flame clicks to life and sends mischievous scarlet shadows flitting over Lou’s sharp smile. “Semantics.”

Eleanor can’t help the smile curling at the edge of her mouth, knees going weak at Lou’s bright blue eyes and wicked grin like they have since they met last year. But then her cheek muscles twitch, not quite used to smiling around Lou anymore, not as strong as they used to be. It feels like an effort to hold the brief evidence of happiness on her face. And Eleanor remembers that it shouldn’t feel like that, a monumental exertion that leaves her muscles quivering.

“Like,” Eleanor continues, “I love that about you, you know? I love that you say, ‘fuck you’ to everyone and their opinions. I love that you snog me in public when someone shoots us a dirty look and how you get stupid tattoos even though our friends can’t stand them.”

“But?” Lou asks, smoke seeping from her lips, because there’s always a _but_.

“But I think—” Eleanor tucks and untucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous habit. Lou holds herself back from catching Eleanor’s hands with her own. “Doesn’t it ever get exhausting?” Lou can barely hear Eleanor’s softened voice over the din of the party. “Fighting all the time?”

“It’s what I do best,” Lou shrugs as the nicotine settles in her lungs, warm and heady. She flicks the lighter on and off again just for something to do with her hands. “It’s what I’ve been doing for a long time.” _It’s all I know how to do sometimes._

“I think it holds you back.”

“Uh huh,” Lou hums noncommittally.

“You can get so caught up in defying everyone’s expectations that you lose sight of what you really want.”

“And what do you think I want, El?” Lou turns to exhale a cloud of smoke, to get a hold of her pounding heart and clammy palms. “To roll over onto my back and wait for someone to scratch my belly?”

“No,” Eleanor bites out.

Lou sneers, “To get a degree in something sensible like business instead of theatre?”

Eleanor protests, “That’s not what I—”

“To wear dresses and makeup and grow my hair out and not look like such a fucking stereotype?” Lou demands, steamrolling over Eleanor. It’s too easy to let the underlying frustration bubble over, to pick the sharpest words in an effort to pry off the cold mask Eleanor wears even if Lou hurts herself in the process. If the world crashes down around her ears, maybe she won’t be able to hear the tiny voice in her mind telling her that she’s gone and fucked it up for good this time. “Is that what you think I want? To fit in like a cog in a machine?”

“No,” Eleanor finally gets in a word edgewise, “I think you want to be called Louis.”

It punches Lou in the gut, instantly snuffs out the burning rage. It’s not at all what she expected Eleanor to say. But it makes the tips of her fingers tingle anyway.

Nevertheless, Lou rallies quickly with a purposefully obtuse noise. “My imaginary twin brother that we made up when we were both too stoned to take responsibility for who fucked up the dosage in the brownies? For the record, it was definitely you.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I remember you sneaking more oil into the batter.” Eleanor’s soft hand on Lou’s arm softens the blow of her next words. “And I definitely remember you telling me how scared you were when Niall brought up Shawn’s transition.”

Lou freezes. A cold sweat breaks out on the back of her neck.

“You said you might want that too.” Eleanor’s voice has gone whisper-soft, like saying the wrong thing could shatter Lou into a thousand shards—too jagged to piece back together. “I don’t know if you remember. We were really fucked up, but we were also really honest.”

A pause, in which Lou tries not to shake apart thinking about the surgery scars on Shawn’s chest and the depth of his voice and the freedom of his laugh. In which Eleanor watches the girl she loves splinter into fissures like gaping wounds and wonders if she made the right decision to force Lou into this conversation.

Finally, “I don’t know what I want,” Lou admits in a fragile voice.

“I know, and that’s okay.”

“Fuck.” Lou sags against the wall, lets her head thump against it, and focuses on the sting. The cherry butt of her cigarette glows between her fingers, a tiny beacon in the swampy darkness.

Eleanor slides down beside her, shoulders brushing. “I just want you to be happy.”

“Then why are you breaking my heart?”

Eleanor’s breath catches. “You always knew me too well.” She tries to smile, but she thinks her bottom lip might wobble too much to pull it off. “Didn’t even get to that part yet.”

Lou sighs another billow of smoke into the night sky. The thick grey cloud disintegrates into wispy vapor, then into nothing. “Well, let’s get on with it then. Let me down proper.” She turns her head to offer a wry smirk. “Are you gonna pull an _it’s not you, it’s me_ like in those dreadful romcoms Harry makes us watch?”

Eleanor rests her head on Lou’s shoulder one last time even though it makes her spine twinge. “How about we call it even and say it’s both of us.” Her words hang between them before floating up to the stars to fade into gossamer, then nothing.

Lou nods, presses her cheek to the crown of Eleanor’s head. “That’s fair.”

“I love you so much, Lou.”

“I love you too, El. So let’s try to get our shit together, yeah? So we can try again. Someday.”

Eleanor kisses her cheek like a promise, something hopeful that sits between their clasped palms for a moment before drifting off into the night like more lung-expelled smoke.


	4. Chapter 4

“Mum, I’m never going to forgive you for not letting me be best man.” The crowd under the marquee titters, but Louis has eyes for no one except for Jay in her gorgeous lace dress and the sparkling headband Lottie picked to bring out her eyes. “If you’d given me a bit more warning, I’m sure I could’ve arranged for Russell to have ‘an accident,’ if you know what I mean.” Louis thinks he might hear Niall mutter, “Oh God,” somewhere behind him. But Daniel’s best friend and best man laughs uproariously, so Louis thinks he’s in the clear.

“But unfortunate ceremony details aside, I wish you nothing but happiness. As much happiness as you’ve given everyone here.” Louis opens his arms to encompass the expansive gathering of friends and family, who clap and whoop. “As much happiness as you’ve given all of us.” Louis leans down to hug Lottie close. She bundles up the little ones into her arms.

“Four years ago, when you first told me about this Daniel guy you’d met and it was getting serious, I wasn’t all that chuffed about it. I thought, ‘here we go again. Another asshole to break me mum’s heart.” It hurts, but Louis keeps his gaze trained on Jay’s face. He forces himself to watch her expression flicker through emotions almost too quickly to keep track. He owes her this honesty.

“I thought, ‘you deserve better than that.’ And I waited everyday, Mum, for you to call me to tell me how it ended. How he never paid for dinner. How he didn’t get along with the twins. How he cheated on you, lied to you. How he left you.” Louis swallows, but soldiers on past the lump in his throat, past the anger he feels when he thinks about the past men in his mother’s life. “How we got left behind. Again.” The tent feels stifled, charged. Louis’ words leave a tense pall.

“But then, Dan, damn it, he kept me waiting.” The pressure in the room cracks wide open, everyone grinning and loose-limbed once again. Louis smiles when he sees the tears start to well up in Jay’s eyes.

The rest of the wedding passes somewhat how Louis expects. He expects to cry before he lifts his champagne glass to finish his speech with a toast, though he doesn’t expect it to be during an anecdote about Harry and Niall meeting Daniel for the first time—the former in only his pants and the latter with lilac hair. Niall may or may not have roped them into a massive pub crawl the night before to celebrate the opening of Bressie’s recording studio.

He expects Grimshaw to be a shit DJ despite Harry’s vouching. He doesn’t expect Niall to end up on Shawn’s shoulders, jacket long gone, shirt unbuttoned to his navel, face red as he guffaws and tries to twirl Louis’ nan without falling off. He ends up flashing everyone with his tits more than anything, but Louis’ sure his nan didn’t mind.

He expects Niall to chase him after Louis films a video to send to Bressie. He doesn’t expect to run breathlessly into Liam while hiding from Niall.

“Tommo?”

Louis shivers at the familiar nickname, something that Liam recently started using again. But he doesn’t have time to contemplate what the hell that means because, “Quick, Liam, that crazy Irish bugger’s after me. We need to hide.”

“What did you do this time?”

“No time for questions!” Louis grabs Liam’s hand and hauls him along to jog across the grass. They weave between Eleanor and and Lottie, briefly get tangled in a line dance with Louis’ cousins, and duck under the hors d'oeuvres table as Niall stalks by. Louis may or may not be humming the _Mission Impossible_ theme under his breath.

It doesn’t occur to Louis that maybe he should have paced himself and not downed his flutes so quickly until he turns to announce the coast clear and sees how close Liam has squirmed in order to fit in the tight space. With all the champagne bubbling in his stomach, it becomes much harder for Louis to remember why he can’t lose himself in Liam’s twinkling eyes, why he shouldn’t stare at Liam’s lips, why he needs to stop leaning closer.

“Nialler gone, do you think?” Liam asks, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. He rubs his thumb over the top of Louis’ hand, which he’s still holding.

“I—” Louis clears his throat, tries to get a fucking grip on himself. “I don’t know.” It’s just him and Liam tucked away from the noise of the wedding, crouched together like kids again, hiding from their mums so Liam doesn’t have to go home. Louis doesn’t know why it feels different this time, why his hand tingles in Liam’s grip, why his heart has picked up as they share breaths. Or maybe he does, but he just doesn’t want to admit it because it’s ridiculous to still lose your head over someone you haven’t seen for four fucking years.

“Guess we’ll have to wait for a bit.” Liam shrugs and rearranges himself into a more comfortable position. Like he has nothing better to do than sit with Louis under this flimsy foldable table and pretend like Louis’ mum’s wedding reception isn’t happening on the other side of the thin tablecloth.

“What’re we doing?” Louis marvels, shaking his head.

“Reckon we’re hiding from your best mate,” Liam answers promptly, ever the practical one. “Maybe you oughta pick a better one. Zayn would never force me to hide under a table of tiny sandwiches at my own mum’s wedding.”

Louis whacks him in the arm. “No, you twat, I meant _what’re we doing_?” He knows that repeating the same words in a different inflection isn’t the best way to articulate himself. But Liam’s eyes soften anyway because he’s always been the best at knowing what Louis wants to say, sometimes even better than Louis himself.

“We’re starting over. We’re trying again.”

“Why did we stop?” Louis’ breath catches at his own words. The hurt bubbles up so fast it leaves him dizzy.

“I don’t even remember,” Liam admits, running a tired hand through his hair. “I texted you. After you left for uni, I texted and sent emails.” He shrugs. “Until it just got easier not to. I don’t know.”

Louis’ stomach lurches uncomfortably. “It was me. I remember those texts. And I just didn’t know how to tell you about everything that was happening. About El and Niall and Shawn and myself. I kept trying, but the words just kept coming out wrong, so I would give up and say I would try again later.”

“Until there wasn’t a later,” Liam guesses. He doesn’t sound accusatory or bitter, but rather a shade poignant. Like he’s had time to mull it over and come to terms with what happened.

Louis winces. “I didn’t mean to, like, brush you off. I know you were having a hard time of it during upper sixth.”

“It’s okay,” Liam says. “It was,” he pauses, searching, careful, “important for me, I think. Important for me to figure some stuff out about myself.”

“What stuff?”

“Well, I learned to box, for one thing.”

Louis pats Liam’s arm, hums in approval at the firm muscle.

“And I realized that,” Liam swallows, “that you could leave, and I would still be alright. That I could go on without you.”

“Oh.” It feels insufficient. But Louis can’t untangle the knotted mess in his chest right now, let alone voice it into something eloquent.

“I didn’t say I wanted to though.” Liam says it so easily, all genuine eyes and open heart. He squeezes Louis’ hand. “I really don’t want to.”

The _Me neither_ gets lost somewhere along the way from Louis’ diaphragm to his throat. Before Louis can find it, shove it deep down never to resurface again or let it spill free, the tablecloth gets yanked up by a tiny hand.

Big blue eyes blink owlishly. “Lou, what’re you doing?”

“Er, playing hide and seek with Niall. You haven’t seen him have you? I think I’m winning.”

Beside Phoebe, Daisy crouches to peer at them too. “Ew, are you holding hands?”

Louis wrenches his hand free. “Yeah, now’ve got Liam cooties. Who wants some?”

The girls run off squealing with laughter while Louis and Liam clamber up to rejoin the party.

“Good to know my cooties can send Tomlinsons running,” Liam harrumphs.

“Not this one,” Louis assures him before he can think better of it.

Liam smiles, eyes crinkling. It’s not the most satisfying conclusion to their interrupted conversation, but it feels like a promise nonetheless.

* * *

“Mum,” Lou whines, covering her face with her hands and dragging out the word until it’s got at least three extra syllables, “can you stop? You’re embarrassing me.”

“I can’t help it,” Jay croons from behind the camera, _click-click-click_ ing away. “You two just look too cute.”

Lou groans dramatically, leaning back until Liam has to scramble to grab her around the waist lest she drag them both to the ground.

“Let her have her fun,” Liam grins into Lou’s ear where her head lolls against his shoulder.

Lou shivers when Liam’s lips brush her earlobe. It’s been happening for a couple weeks now, her wondering when Liam’s shoulders got so broad or if his eyes have always been such a captivating shade. But she doesn’t have a crush on her best friend because that would be stupid, stupid and cliché and ridiculous. Lou is many things, but she is not a cliché. Her life is not a shitty Hallmark movie.

So she hides her hot face against his neck and prays Liam doesn’t notice. “Ugh, don’t encourage her.”

“Anyway, she’s right. You look great tonight.” He tugs lightly at the hem of Lou’s navy blazer.

Lou lifts her head up and twists to frown at him. “You don’t need to do that anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Compliment me or whatever to get on my good side. You’ve already convinced me to take you to this stupid spring formal, yeah?”

It’s true Liam chivvied her for a solid month to go to, “Your last school dance!”

“What about prom?”

“Well, yeah, but there’s no way I’m gonna get you to go to that, so.”

“No.”

“Tommo, c’mon, we’ve never even gone.”

“Because they’re lame, Liam.”

“Yeah, but shouldn’t we go at least once before we graduate? Like scratch it off the bucket list?”

“If that’s on your bucket list, I’d hate to see what other sad shit you’ve got on there.”

“Not the point.”

“Then what _is_ the point?”

“To make memories?”

“I’d rather keep my memories of you free of shitty music and shittier spiked punch, thanks.”

Two tickle fights, three intense rounds of Mario Kart, and one promise to help prank Charlie later, Lou caves. Which is how they end up here: in a stifling gymnasium, lights too low, pressed close as teenagers in various states of drunkenness crowd the dance floor as chaperones look the other way, deafening EDM causing permanent inner ear damage. Lou is sweating through her wrinkled dress shirt, but honestly isn’t having the horrific night she had envisioned. She hoped Liam would realize what a drag school dances were and would want to bail after an hour tops.

Instead, Liam seemed to thoroughly enjoy the tacky streamers and the posters so poorly made that Lou still can’t tell what the theme of the dance is supposed to be. First thing, he hauled Lou to the photobooth to take ridiculous pictures with a hot pink feather boa and plastic Happy 2006! New Year’s glasses. She wanted to sulk and pout until Liam agreed to leave and go smoke the weed she stashed in the car. But her plan suddenly felt much more difficult to execute now that she had seen the delighted twinkle in Liam’s eyes as he watched their photos print out.

Ignoring the odd skip of her pulse, Lou grabbed Liam’s wrist. When he looked curiously at her, she jerked her head at the dance floor. He grinned, tucking the photo strip into his back pocket for safekeeping.

Lou is devastated to learn that, somehow over the past ten years, she has never realized that Liam can dance. She feels ridiculous, about to break out her worst dad moves, when she sees Liam’s hips start to find the beat. Her sprinkler-hip-thrust combo suddenly seems dreadfully inadequate to Liam’s rolling shoulders and playful smirk.

Before she can feel too self-conscious, Liam’s big hands find her hips to gently guide her into an easy sway.

“What the hell, Payne,” she shouts into his ear, leaning in so he can hear her over the pounding music. “When did you learn to dance anything other than the macarena?”

He ducks his head a little, bashful in a way Louis hasn’t seen since he confessed he fancied Danielle in year five. “My vocal coach thinks if I really want to have a proper go at this music thing, I should learn to dance a bit,” Liam admits. “It’ll help my sense of rhythm or something.”

Lou doesn’t know what the hell she’s supposed to do with that. She feels a bit off kilter not knowing even this small tidbit of Liam’s life, however insignificant. Nevertheless, she lets it go before it can fester. Before it can draw her hands to Liam’s cheeks. Before it can convince her to lean up and see if Liam’s lips taste like the Polo he was sucking on earlier.

Instead of dwelling, she focuses on not making a complete tit of herself on the dancefloor. She swears when she accidentally steps on Liam’s foot, but then does it again twice as hard when he just laughs at her.

Eventually, she breathlessly follows Liam to get some punch. She nearly chokes on her drink when a slow song comes on the speakers, and Liam extends his hand almost shyly.

“God, you really want the whole teenage romcom dance experience, don’t you?” Lou tries to play it cool, keeps her tone light and dry. She arches a skeptical eyebrow and tries to discreetly wipe her sweating palms on her trousers. “Do you want to go drive through a tunnel later with the sunroof open and shout embarrassing _Perks of Being a Wallflower_ quotes?” Taking the piss out of Liam is always a safe option.

“I want what you’ll give me,” comes Liam’s painfully earnest answer.

Lou takes his hand, tells herself if anyone is worth playing a cliché for a night, it’s her best fucking friend. If Liam can put up with Lou’s sharp mouth and loud sisters and general propensity for recalcitrance for all these years, then Lou figures she owes Liam one night with a nice girl.

Of course, she can’t even give him that because nice girls don’t pull out two joints after the formal ends and Lou’s car is sat in front of the Payne household, about to drop Liam off. Nice girls don’t slap his arse playfully when Liam sneaks out his bedroom window later that night to meet up past curfew. Nice girls don’t tap their hollowed cheeks to blow smoke rings into Liam’s scandalized face.

Lou wonders if it matters because nice boys don’t smoke with no-good girls like her anyway.

“But it’s the principle of the matter,” Lou mutters aloud to herself.

“Whassat?” Liam mumbles beside her where they lay stretched in the small copse of trees on the shoulder of the dirt road behind Liam’s house.

“The principle,” Lou repeats. The arm that isn’t curled pillow-like behind her head reaches over to smack Liam’s chest for emphasis. “Prin-ci-ple.”

Liam catches her around the wrist. His palm burns without pain, branding an invisible mark over Lou’s skin. Lou’s breath hitches anyway. “Stop hitting me,” he whines. “S’not nice.”

Lou yanks her arm back, cradles it to her chest. “Sorry,” she says in a sullen voice. God, why does she fuck everything up?

“Hey,” Liam leans up on one elbow, tilts his shoulder to peer down at her. “Hey, Lou, it’s okay, yeah?”

“No it’s not,” Lou huffs, propping herself up as well. She needs to impress the importance of her next words into Liam, and she can’t do that with his big doe eyes looking down at her. “No, you’re right. It wasn’t nice, and you deserve a nice girl.”

“I deserve a…” Liam trails off, clearly having lost the plot.

“A nice girl,” Lou repeats firmly, nodding in agreement with herself. “A nice girl with long hair and pretty makeup to marry and have a white picket fence and two-point-five kids. Oh God, but please don’t chop one of your kids in half.” She winces at the mental image.

“I won’t,” Liam promises, forehead still wrinkled in confusion. “But, Lou, what’re you on about? Two-point-five kids? Have you been watching those trashy American dramas again?”

Lou sniffs. “Maybe.”

“And, like, marriage? Who’m I marrying?”

“Someone who will love you proper. Because you deserve that, Leemo. You deserve someone who will take the piss out of you forever because you used to be afraid of spoons. And knows that you want to get a tattoo of your family crest because you’re a big fucking nerd.”

“Hey!”

“And someone who knows how you take your tea.”

“You know.”

“Three sugars,” Lou says automatically, “because you want to get diabetes at the ripe age of seventeen. What was I saying?”

“Something about…weddings?”

“Right.” Lou nods to herself again. “Right, which brings me back to my point. Sorry I was such a shit date.”

Liam bursts into laughter.

Lou scowls and pinches his side. “Oi, prick, I’m trying to have a _moment_ here, and you’re ruining it.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Liam wheezes, twisting away from her fingers. “I just—where on earth have you got the idea that you were a crap date?”

Lou frowns in earnest this time. “What do you mean?”

“Like, I had a good time tonight. A great time, even.” Liam nervously licks his dry lips. “Did—did you?”

“Of course I did,” Lou replies dismissively. She gives Liam her best _are you an idiot?_ face. “Always have a good time with you, twat. Even when you make me go to your music recital thingies and I have to sit through a hundred other kids before I get to hear you sing.”

“Even when I force you to go to lame school dances?” Liam teases.

Lou rolls her eyes as hard as she can before she concedes, “Even when you force me to go to lame dances.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is.” Liam leans closer.

Lou lets him and resists the urge to glance down at Liam’s lips. “But I didn’t even wear a dress.”

“So?” Liam’s hand find Lou’s shoulder, thumb rubbing over the thin fabric of her shirt. “You look well fit in this.”

Lou taps ash off the end of her joint for something to do with her shaky hands besides reach for Liam’s cheek, besides finger the slick buttons of Liam’s shirt, besides muss his waxy hair. “You don’t mean that.” She looks away and fixes her hard gaze on a tuft of moss growing on a root.

“Why not?” Liam’s face looms closer. His fingers gently curl around the back of her neck, just holding her, not pushing for more. “Why can’t I mean this?” His lips brush the soft curve of her jaw, fit against the corner of her mouth.

 _Because you deserve_ more _,_ Lou doesn’t murmur against his mouth. She holds the heavy words inside her chest and angles her head in anyway.

Liam sighs into the pot-sweet kiss, slow and smoky, until Lou doesn’t know if it’s just the weed making her head spin anymore. It could just as easily be Liam’s tongue at the seam of her mouth or his thumb at her thrumming pulse.

In a minute, Lou will pull away with an ache deep in her gut. In an hour, she’ll lay awake in her bed, stare at the ceiling, and wonder how she could get lucky enough to reminisce about the phantom taste of Liam’s lips. In a day, she’ll have convinced herself that she didn’t get lucky; that Liam was stoned out of his mind, they both were, and maybe if they don’t talk about it, things can go back to the way they were before everything inevitably explodes in Lou’s face. In a week, Liam will stop giving her quizzical looks that Lou pretends not to see. In a month, Lou will start receiving university acceptances that remind her with a jolt that life doesn’t pause for anyone—not even two lost kids trying to figure each other out.

But for now, Lou lets herself enjoy the pounding of Liam’s heart under her hand when she rests it on his chest. The comforting weight of his body sprawled over hers. The tickle of grass against the back of her neck. The way Liam’s tongue makes her toes curl underneath the winking starlight. The small voice in the back of her head whispering, “Don’t let this go.”

* * *

**Free tomorrow?**

**Sry. I have 2 take the twins 2 dance lessons,** Louis texts back after an inordinately long time hemming and hawing over whether to respond at all.

**All day?**

Louis swears loudly.

“That Liam again?” Niall asks from where he’s sprawled over the end of sofa opposite of Louis, eyes glued to some golf tournament on the telly. Figures someone with Niall’s old man joints would take genuine interest in an old man sport. Louis’ phone buzzes with another incoming text. “What’m I saying? ‘Course it is. Who else is dumb enough to text you this much?”

“Excuse you, Neil,” Louis snarks back, “I am a very popular, very busy man.”

“Oh, is that why you offered to babysit during Jay and Daniel’s honeymoon?” Niall gives him a flat look.

“No, I did that to be a good son so Mum wouldn’t have to worry about the girls while she’s gone.”

Niall looks appropriately chastised.

“Plus, I gotta remind her why I’m the favorite.”

Niall snorts and opens his mouth to retort, but gets distracted by the telly. “Oi, what kind of feckin’—”

Louis rolls his eyes and glances back at his newest message.

**Look if u changed your mind i get it and i’ll leave you alone. But I’d really like to at least talk or something. Over coffee?**

Louis wants nothing more than to type out one more of the crappy excuses he’s been feeding Liam ever since the wedding. As far as Liam knows, Lottie’s got her piano lessons three times a week, Fizzy is bedridden with the flu, and the twins guzzle milk like monsters because Louis always conveniently has to run to Tesco to get more when Liam asks to grab lunch.

However, the resignation in Liam’s text causes Louis to pause before typing out another lie. Or maybe that’s just Louis projecting, unsure whether he really wants Liam to give up or to call Louis out on his shit.

Louis gratefully embraces the distraction of his mum texting him.

**Before I forget love, I was cleaning out the cabinets before we left and I found something you might want to look at. It’s in my room.**

“Where’re you going?”

“Going to find better company,” Louis says just to hear Niall squawk with indignance. Padding down the hall, Louis pushes open the door to his mum and Daniel’s bedroom. Atop the freshly made sheets sits an innocuous envelope. Louis opens it and pulls out a strip of glossy paper.

Two familiar faces stare back at him, faces laminated and smiles frozen. The colors have faded a little in time, but when Louis brushes a reverent finger over the photos, he swears he can still feel the sheer joy of the night vibrate under his skin.

“What’s that?”

“Me mum found old pictures of me and Liam.”

“Ah, 2006, a simpler time,” Niall nods in approval at Louis’ ridiculous plastic glasses even though he and Liam are obviously too old for the photo to actually have been taken in that year.

“It was our spring formal during my last year of secondary school. I didn’t want to go, but Liam begged, and we ended up having a really good time.” Louis can’t help the dopey smile pulling at his lips, the fondness dripping off his words. He pockets the photo. Niall follows him back to the living room.

After a thoughtful silence broken only by the low drone of the golf announcer, Niall says, “I don’t get it.”

Louis looks up to see Niall studying him, eyes too calculating for Louis’ like.

“See, love, it’s easy. The people take those long metal sticks and hit the little white ball into the hole, and everyone pretends it’s an actual sport.”

“Ha, ha,” Niall mock laughs in a dry voice. “God, you’re such a wanker. But seriously, you’ve got a nice, fit bloke at your beck and call. He already knows about your trans-ness.”

“Not a word,” Louis interjects just to be annoying.

“Fine, he knows your history then. Your mum loves him. He knows you’re a big fucking pain in the arse and puts up with you anyway. Liam’s cleared all the hurdles.” Niall sits up and rests his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, face pensive. “What’s left? What’re you waiting for?”

“For him to come to his senses,” Louis mutters before he can stop himself. He wrings his hands and takes out the photostrip for something to occupy himself.

Niall holds back his desire to shake Louis by his shoulders and possibly throttle him. “Maybe you should consider letting Liam make his own decisions like a big boy instead of assuming you know what’s best.”

Louis chews on his lip and looks down at the photos in his hand. He rubs a thumb over Liam’s laughing face and remembers the heady press of Liam’s lips, eager and intoxicating but not pushing for something Louis wasn’t ready to give. Louis looks up at Niall’s expectant face. “Okay.” **I’m free at 1.** He sends it before he can lose his nerve

“Now was that so hard?” Then Niall leans over to box Louis around the ears.

“Oi!” Louis retaliates with a dick slap that Niall expertly dodges.

Niall cackles. But he wraps a companionable arm around Louis’ shoulders anyway. “Look at you, confronting your feelings and shit. Good on you, Tommo.”

“Sod off before I kick you out of my house.”

* * *

“H’lo?” Louis’ voice comes out warm and pleasantly fuzzy from the couple of shots he and Niall just raced to gulp down. He can’t hear anything over Harry’s horrible honking laugh at his own terrible pun about a platypus and Fleetwood Mac, so Louis pinches one of Harry’s nipples and retreats down the hall of the flat. He slips into Harry’s empty room and closes the door. Once Shawn’s confused noises and Calum’s shouts have faded somewhat, he tries again, covering the ear that isn’t pressed to his mobile for good measure, “Soz, I couldn’t hear you. Wha’s that?”

“Lou! S’that you?”

“ _Liam_?” He checks the name flashing on his screen just to be sure.

“Lou,” Liam honest to God giggles, “Lou, vodka tastes like, like, rubbing alcohol. Like that stuff your mum used to use when we fell off our skateboards. Do you remember?” He punctuates his question with a hiccup.

“Liam James Payne, are you drunk?” Louis asks with glee, any potential nerves evaporating at the sheer hilarity of his straight-laced, single-kidneyed Liam inebriated. “How’d you manage that? I’ve been trying to get you to drink since year nine.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to,” Liam complains. “My kidney and all. But Zayn just looked so _sad_.”

“Don’t want to make Zayn sad,” Louis agrees wholeheartedly, like he knows who the hell this Zayn is.

“And then I started thinking about what else makes me sad, and I thought of you.”

“I make you sad?” It hurts more than Louis expects, cuts right through the beer warming his blood. He has a feeling he shouldn’t have let Liam hear how his question wobbled at the end like that, but he can’t be bothered to remember why.

“No, you make me the opposite of sad,” Liam corrects. “You make me smile and laugh and feel not boring.” Then he pauses. “Usually. You used to. Now, I dunno.”

Louis winces.

Liam remains silent for so long Louis looks at the phone screen to make sure he hasn’t rung off and nearly misses Liam whisper, “Lou, you never came home.”

“I know, Payno,” Louis exhales, slumping onto Harry’s bed because his knees suddenly feel too weak to hold him. “I know.” He bites his bottom lip, trying to get his sluggish brain to rearrange the jumbled thoughts in his head into a coherent sentence. Liam deserves more than _I just got caught up_ . But everything after that sounds wrong too: _Sorry I was becoming someone new at uni, and if I came back to Donny, I’d have to give that up, so I didn’t. Sorry I missed you during the winter hols; I was trying to figure out how if Louis could fit into the hole Lou left behind. Sorry it took so long that I didn’t think you cared about me anymore once I got my shit sorted. Sorry, sorry, sorry._

“Why didn’t you come home? Why didn’t you come back to me?”

“Liam, there you are!” comes a distant voice from Liam’s end. “Shit, three shots and you’re already drunk calling someone. You really weren’t kidding about being a lightweight.” A faint scuffle and then the new voice with a distinct northern accent says much more clearly, “Sorry, whoever this is. Whatever he said, he didn’t mean it.”

Louis chokes out a laugh. “Yeah, no worries. Just watch out for him, yeah? Make sure he drinks water. And doesn’t go off with some random bird; he doesn’t like casual shags. And get him to bed on time because—”

“He likes to get up to go to the gym at seven,” the person interjects. Louis jolts and grips his mobile a little tighter. “Yeah, I know. Bloody mad, our Liam.”

Our Liam. It puts a bitter taste in Louis’ mouth, the thought of this stranger getting to see Liam dance drunkenly for the first time, to wrap an arm around Liam’s waist to help him stagger home. But then Louis shakes himself, firmly reminds himself that Liam isn’t _his_. Louis gave that up when he wouldn’t return Liam’s calls or texts.

“Yeah,” Louis forces out, “thanks, mate. Appreciate it.”

“‘Course.” The line goes dead.

* * *

“God, this was such a bad idea,” Louis groans into his hands for the third time since he arrived at the coffeeshop twenty minutes early. He still can’t bring himself to actually walk through the doors. He paces back and forth and grips his phone so tightly his hand aches. What time is it? Is it too late to cancel?

“Louis?” Well, that answers his question.

“Oh God,” Louis whirls around.

Liam’s friendly face falls at Louis’ aghast expression. “Everything alright?” He steps forward to place a worried hand on Louis’ shoulder. “Is Fizzy’s fever getting worse? Should we take her to the A&E?”

Louis flushes with shame at the genuine concern etched on Liam’s face. “No, Liam, I, er—Fizzy doesn’t have the flu. That was a lie.”

“Because you were avoiding me,” Liam guesses. He doesn’t sound surprised, just tired.

Louis cringes, embarrassed at being caught but more embarrassed by how childish it sounds in hindsight. “Sorry. I just—” _Was scared, bloody terrified of how much I wanted you, how much I think you might want me too._

“I don’t get you sometimes,” Liam admits even as his hand cups Louis’ cheek. Despite everything, a bit of tension bleeds out of Louis’ shoulders at the sweet gesture. “I’m really trying. I thought we were on the same page, but fuck, Louis, you gotta help me out here. Point me in the right direction or something.” Their faces inch close enough that Louis can see flecks of gold glint in Liam’s eyes.

“Sometimes I think, yeah, this is it. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for since we were kids. Since I was just a stupid seventeen year-old lucky enough to talk his best friend into spring formal.” The light shifts, and the gold flecks dim back into brown. “But then you pull away so fast it gives me, like, whiplash. Like, if I’ve been reading this all wrong,” Liam’s voice wavers, “Louis, you have to tell me now.”

“You haven’t,” Louis confesses in a rush, an exhaled secret that sends an illicit thrill of his spine. “You haven’t. I want this so much.”

Liam leans back, breaking the tiny bubble they had been ensconced in. Louis instantly misses the warmth of Liam’s palm against his skin. “Then why do you look like you’re gonna brick it every time I lean in to kiss you?”

“‘Cause I didn’t want to, like, force myself onto my straight best friend. I didn’t even know you weren’t straight until the wedding,” Louis huffs.

“Neither did I,” Liam shrugs. “I’m a bit new to this, if you haven’t noticed. Never fancied a bloke before. I’m trying not to fuck it up.” He offers a hint of a smile. “How’m I doing?”

“You’ve never?” He has only known Liam to chase after girls, but Louis only kissed boys in secondary school too, so. “You’re taking this sexuality crisis rather well, all things considered.”

“Not much of a crisis. It’s you,” Liam says, sweet and easy, like it’s that simple.

Louis’ blood runs cold, and he has to remind himself to breathe. “Yeah, but I’m still a boy. You know this,” Louis gestures between them, “still makes you, like, proper queer? Just because I haven’t got a dick—”

But Liam cuts in before Louis can raise his hackles and retreat into himself, “Louis, I know. Sorry, I didn’t mean it’s not a big deal because I see you as a girl or something stupid like that. I just meant, like, it’s not as scary knowing that it’s someone who knows me like you do.”

“It’s still a little scary,” Louis breathes out. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“Then help me out,” Liam replies patiently.

Louis gulps. “Remember when you said you were figuring some stuff out when I left for uni?”

“Like boxing?”

“Like boxing,” Louis agrees. “Well, I was figuring out some stuff too.”

“Yeah?” Liam’s tone goes warm, encouraging.

“Yeah, like,” Louis licks his lips, “like, sex stuff.”

Liam blinks. “Is this you trying to ease me into some _Fifty Shades_ type thing? Have you got contracts and a questionnaire for me to fill out?”

“Not quite.” A weak smile tugs at the corner of Louis’ mouth at the irony. “Quite the opposite direction actually. Although, if you were into that, I know a guy.”

“You do?” Liam looks impressed.

“Well, Harry knows a guy,” Louis corrects. “You know Grimmy, the DJ from Mum’s wedding? Yeah, him and Harry get up to everything and anything. I know more about their escapades than I’d like to.”

Liam laughs at Louis’ disgruntled face. “Good to know. But I’m not quite sure what’s opposite of Dakota Johnson in the Red Room.”

“To start, how about, uh, no Red Room?”

“Okay, I think I’ll live without being spanked or whatever.”

“And, uh, how about no sex, like, at all?”

Liam blinks again, slower. Louis can almost hear the cogs in his head whirring and creaking to process.

“I’m ace,” Louis spits out before the words can grow so heavy in his mouth he can’t lift his tongue to form them.

“Uh.”

“Eloquent,” Louis snorts before he can help himself because he’ll take flippancy over a serious conversation anyday.

“Sorry, sorry, I just don’t know—what does that mean? Ace? Ace at what? Footie?”

Louis bites back a grin. “No—well, yes, obviously, but I meant it as it asexual.”

Liam’s face does something complicated. “Like one of those bacteria that clones itself?”

Louis plants his hands on his hips. “Do I look like bacteria to you?”

“I think fungi also do it,” Liam pipes up helpfully. “Okay, but I really think you’re gonna need to spell this one out for me. It’s like the gender stuff all over again.” He shrugs apologetically.

Louis’ chest seizes up at that, recalling how eager and open Liam has been to learning about Louis’ transition. How he trips over his words trying to phrase his questions in a respectful way. How his nose scrunches up when he tries to remember acronyms and jargon.

“Okay,” Louis clears his throat, “asexual means, like, I don’t wanna shag.”

“I’m hardly going to put out before we’ve had our first date,” Liam says in a mock scandalized tone. And doesn’t that send a thrill down Louis’ spine, the prospect of picking Liam up at eight, holding hands on the tube, kissing his cheek at the end of a sweet night.

“Well I’m not going to put out after any of them,” Louis shrugs. Not apologetic, but firm in his decision.

“Have you ever, you know, tried?”

Louis groans. “God, Payno, that’s like telling Niall he just hasn’t found the right girl yet.”

Liam looks properly chastised. “I hadn’t thought about it like that. Sorry.”

“Next you’re gonna ask if I wank.”

“Don’t.” Louis barrels on when Liam opens his mouth. “It’s a lot to think about. People get weird when it comes to sex. It’s really important to them, so, like, just think on it, yeah?” _Before you make any big decisions we might not be able to take back._

Liam looks like he’s bursting to say something or argue, but he dutifully swallows down his protest and nods.

“Thank you,” Louis says in relief.


	5. Chapter 5

Sometimes Liam forgets that, behind her cutting wit and solar nova presence, Lou fumbles through life just the same as every other teenager. When she storms into a room and commands all eyes with her gravitational pull, it’s hard to remember she’s only just turned sixteen. She still breaks out on her forehead and gets shirty if the Rovers lose a match. When she thinks no one is looking, she still fidgets like she’s still getting used to her own skin.

It’s in one of those rare moments—the quiet ones that Liam can count witnessing on one hand—that Liam catches Lou gazing at the flyer for the upcoming school musical for the third time that week.

“You should try out,” Liam nudges her as he comes up behind.

Lou startles, but hides it by hefting her bag higher up her shoulder. She hunches her shoulders and snorts disparagingly, “Yeah, right.”

“Why not?” Liam peers closer at the fine print. “Are you doing anything tomorrow afternoon?”

“I’ve got to watch Lottie and the twins. Mum and Mark are both working late.”

Liam deflates slightly. “Oh.” Then he snaps his fingers. “I could watch the girls.”

Lou stares at him like he’s grown a second head.

“I’ve done it before,” Liam defends himself.

“With me there,” Lou points out skeptically. “D’you even know how to change a nappy by yourself?”

“You could show me today,” Liam offers, bouncing eagerly on his toes now that he’s come up with a plan. “C’mon, Tommo, Babysitting 101. The auditions will only be for a couple hours anyway. I think I can handle your sisters for two hours.”

Lou frowns. “I don’t know. What if something happens? The twins can get fussy without Mum.”

“I’ll call you, and you can come right back,” Liam promises. “And I’ll have Lottie to help me. C’mon, Lou, I really think you should at least try for the musical. You’d be great.”

“Fine, fine,” Lou huffs. She rips off one of the tickets at the bottom of the flyer and turns on her heel to start walking home. “But don’t blame me when Daisy wees on you.”

Liam makes a face. But then he catches sight of Lou’s bitten back smile and her tight grip on the flyer ticket, and he knows he made the right decision.

It takes Liam four tries to successfully change Daisy that afternoon while Lottie giggles and Lou scorns his shoddy technique. Nevertheless, by the time Liam has to head to his own house, Louis has deemed him acceptable for a few hours of twin-watching.

“And don’t forget to burp them before they go down for their nap. Phoebe will have one big one, probably, but Daisy is a sneaky bastard. She might burp a few times,” Lou rattles off feverishly the next day. She runs her hands through her hair, tugging it into a mess. “And the flannels are—”

“In the cupboard under the sink,” Liam recites dutifully. He does his best to flatten Lou’s birdnest hair before giving up and finally gripping her by the shoulders to stop her manic pacing. “ _Lou_ , it’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.” He gives her his most confident, winning smile. “And you’ll be amazing, so go smash it.” He nods towards the auditorium doors.

“I’m bricking it,” Lou admits, biting her bottom lip.

“And I’m worried the twins will cry nonstop and refuse to eat when you’re gone,” Liam responds, face solemn and tone bracing. “Today, we’re both facing our fears.”

At last, Lou cracks a smile. “Okay,” she whispers. Her voice still stakes, but her wan face regains some color.

Liam nods, squeezes her shoulders once, and gently pushes her forward.

She totters towards the doors, takes a deep breath, and glances over her shoulder one last time. Liam gives her a cheesy thumbs up and his most brilliant grin. She rolls her eyes at him, but her shoulders lose a tiny bit of tension as she disappears.

A week later, the musical has completely slipped Liam’s mind in the wake of him forgetting about a history project until the night before. He stays up all night to skim three books and crank out a six page essay, which means the next day Liam doesn’t have his maths homework to turn in. Not to mention in his mad rush out the door to get to school on time, he doesn’t realize his shirt is on backwards until halfway through chemistry. His hair is a curly mess that he suspects only looks worse the more he self consciously paws at it. To top it all off, his English teacher tells him off in front of the whole class when she catches him nodding off.

“I’m sorry _The Catcher in the Rye_ isn’t interesting enough for you, Mr. Payne,” she says cooly while Liam’s face burns with embarrassment.

He stays back to apologize after class, then flees before the day can somehow get any worse. However, before Liam can sigh forlornly and bemoan himself too much more, he gets tackled by a dark-haired bolt of lightning.

“I got it! I got it! I got a fucking part!” Lou shrieks in his ear, clambering onto his back like a gangly koala, arms wrapped tight around his neck and legs around his waist.

“What?” Liam wheezes, arms coming down automatically to hold Lou securely and hopefully shift her into a more comfortable position that doesn’t exert quite so much pressure on his windpipe. “What, Lou, that’s incredible! Oh my God, congratulations.”

“I know. It wasn’t the part I really wanted, but I’m gonna ace it anyway.” she says smugly. Then she points forward over Liam’s shoulder. “Now take me home so I can tell me mum.”

Liam rolls his eyes, but starts walking anyway because he’s never been able to say no to Lou. Not when she makes him forget about his lack of sleep, ratty hair, and inability to process trigonometry. Not when she makes him feel on top of the world just by smacking an obnoxious kiss to the side of his neck to make him squirm and threaten to drop her. In these moments, Liam figures he and Lou are right where they need to be—stumbling down the pavement with laughter spilling out their throats to cushion every step.

A couple months later, Liam realizes how wrong he was. The Lou bouncing around him crowing about snagging the role of Sandy Olsson, a vivacious glint in her eyes and fire crawling up her bones, looks like a hollow specter compared to the Lou onstage, all animated limbs and warbling voice and expressive face. Underneath the cheap blond wig and big hoop earrings, Liam sees Lou in her element. She looks like she belongs up there on a stage to perform and entertain, to steal hearts with a coy look and break them a moment later when Danny sweeps her off her feet.

Liam almost feels alarmed at how overwhelmed he feels looking up at Lou and knowing she’s found her place. He’ll act surprised later when Lou admits she’s joining the theatre club and eventually decides to apply to uni for drama, but he won’t be. He’ll just remember this moment and try to fathom how he’ll ever keep up with a hurricane on her set path when most days Liam feels like a slight breeze could whisk him away.

But for now, he stands up from his seat along with Lou’s family and claps as hard as he can as the curtain falls. If his palms sting from applause, maybe he doesn’t have to drown in the ache filling his lungs.

When Lou finally stumbles out from backstage, Liam sweeps her up in a bear hug. He lifts her off her feet and twirls her around while she laughs and slaps at his shoulders to be let down.

“How d’you do it?” Liam asks in a dazed voice.

Lou smooths her dress out, brushes back a stray strand of hair. “Do what?”

“Like, you were so scared at the thought of even auditioning. It took me years to get over my stage fright, and you just got up there after a couple months.” Around them, families reunite with actors, cameras snap, bouquets of flowers get presented, ecstatic congratulations roll of tongues. The cacophony almost drowns out Liam. “I don’t get it.”

“I was lucky enough to have someone to push me past the fear,” Lou shrugs. She leans in for another hug, calmer this time, but no less meaningful as they stand in each other’s arms.

It feels disarming, how easily she says shit like that. She must not know how much larger than life she seems sometimes, like nothing can touch her. Some days, Liam can barely bear to look at her, she burns so brightly. But then she lets slip little pieces that remind Liam that perhaps this firestorm of a girl is human too. Maybe he can hold her a little longer without getting incinerated. Or maybe one day, he’ll lean in to kiss her cheek and get reduced to a pile of ash, waiting for a breeze to sweep him away.

Until then, “Um, sorry I didn’t get you flowers. I’ll get you some next time.”

Lou wrinkles her nose. “Some best friend you are.”

“We could go by Tesco and get some Jaffa cakes,” Liam suggests.

“I knew I picked you for a good reason.”

* * *

At the third consecutive volley of insistent knocking on his dressing room door, Louis finally slaps his script down and snaps, “When someone ignores the door, it usually means they want to be left the fuck alone!” 

“And when someone keeps knocking anyway, it usually means this is important, so open the bloody door, Tommo.” 

“Liam?”

“No, it’s Niall doing an impersonation of me, you doughnut. Who do you think it is?” 

Louis wrenches the door open to find a flustered Liam. He pretends to frown. “You’re not Niall.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just nervous—here.” Liam thrusts an overflowing bouquet into Louis’ arms. Louis scrambles to safely scoop it up without jostling the petals too much. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Being a good supportive friend even though  _ someone _ is a complete twat that didn’t invite me to his show.” 

Louis huffs indignantly. “I didn’t want it to be awkward! Or like I was pressuring you into anything. We’re in kind of a weird spot right now.” 

“Not everything’s about you. Maybe I’m talking about Niall. I could be about to run off to go see him play Simba in  _ The Lion King _ .”

“Nialler’d make a great Simba,” Louis agrees wholeheartedly. “How much d’you think we’d have to pay Bressie to lift him up?” 

“I’d say two pints.” 

Louis laughs. “Make it three pints, and I bet Niall’d sing the song too.” 

Liam shuffles his feet. “Er, can I come in?” 

“Right, yeah, ‘course, c’mon.” Louis shuffles around for somewhere to put the flowers while Liam slips into the room and shuts the door. He lays them across his vanity for lack of anywhere better. Then he turns around to look at Liam with his hands shoved into his pockets. “So.” 

“So,” Liam mimics, drawing out the word while his nerves sort themselves. “I’ve been thinking.” 

“Shocking.” 

Liam gives him a dry look, but continue, “I wanted to say thank you for coming out to me. I’m sure it wasn’t easy. And I don’t want to, like, un-validate you or whatever.”

Louis’ breathing stutters. 

“But I don’t know where you got it in your head that not having sex was a deal breaker because it’s not. It’s really not.” Liam’s eyes harden. “And anyone who says otherwise is full of bullshit.” 

“You say that now,” Louis warns in a tight voice. He’s glad he set down the flowers because he’d likely mangle them with how tightly he clenches his fists. “Will you still be saying that in a few months?” 

Liam steps closer and tries not to feel put off by Louis’ rigid shoulders. “If you let me take you out for dinner after your show, maybe we could find out.” 

Louis gravitates towards Liam’s open, hopeful expression despite himself. “I just,” he swallows, “don’t want you to resent me for not being able to give you everything that usually comes with a relationship.” Louis’ words come out soft, like a secret, like a fear that Louis typically hugs close to his chest.

“Because I deserve more? Deserve a pretty face with long hair and two-point-five kids?” Liam’s big hand circles Louis’ wrist, squeezes reassuringly. 

Louis’ scrunches his eyebrows at the half-familiar words. 

“Do you remember saying that the night of spring formal?” 

Louis’ mouth drops open. “Of fucking course I do. How the hell do  _ you _ remember that?” He pokes Liam hard in the chest. 

“Never forgot it. You’re the one who refused to talk about it.” 

“You never did either,” Louis counters. “We got so fucked up that night, I figured you had forgotten. And I wasn’t about to bring up the stupid shit I said because I was high.” 

“So,” Liam licks his lips, “it was just because we smoked?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “And maybe a little because of my enormous crush on you.” 

Liam blinks, eyes wide like saucers. “You had a crush on me?” 

“Don’t make me say it again,” Louis groans, fighting the urge to bury his face in his hands in embarrassment. He feels his cheeks warm. “Like you didn’t know. Stan gave me so much shit for it. Asked if we could be more of a cliché. Literally everyone from here to the moon could see it. NASA’s probably got, like, space pictures of it.” 

“You had a crush on me,” Liam repeats, a dopey smile on his face that Louis can’t help but feel his heart flutter at the sight of. 

“You—you really didn’t know?” 

“You used to slap my dick so you could win at FIFA and steal the jello from my lunches. How was I supposed to know that was flirting?” Liam grumbles. 

“I also took you to a fucking school dance, you tosser!” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Liam laughs, twisting away from Louis trying to pinch his nipples. 

They tussle for a few moments until Louis somehow ends up with his back against the door, looking up at Liam hovering over him. He’s a little out of breath, but that might be more due to the crinkliness of Liam’s eyes and the warmth of his palms on Louis’ hips than due to physical strenuousness. 

“Maybe I should’ve tried asking you out in a more secondary school sort of way then,” Liam muses. “Do you fancy me? Check a box: yes, no, maybe.” 

“Yes,” Louis responds without hesitation. 

“Do you want to go get dinner tonight?” 

“No.” At Liam’s puzzled look, Louis shrugs. “I promised Mum I’d go out with the family.” 

“Fair enough. Do you want to do dinner tomorrow night?” 

“Maybe.” 

“We could get Indian takeaway and watch  _ Dexter _ ,” Liam coaxes. 

“Make it  _ Love Island _ and I’m in. I mean, yes.” 

Liam muffles his laugh into Louis’ neck. 

“Oi,” Louis complains, “I’ve got four younger sisters.” 

“Yeah, and I’m sure they’re all tired of your trashy taste in television.” 

“Making me regret this already, Payno.” 

Liam raises an eyebrow. “Am I really?” 

“No.” 

“Thought so,” Liam says with a smug look. 

Louis plucks up his courage. “Can I kiss you? Yes, no, maybe?” 

Liam leans in, nose brushing Louis’. His fingers come up to trace Louis’ jaw. “Yes.” 


	6. Chapter 6

“Mum, how do you know if you love someone?” 

Liam’s mum carefully lays down her knife and wipes her hands on her apron to clean them of diced carrot remnants. Then she ruffles his hair affectionately, lips twitching with amusement. “Why? Have you got someone special in mind?” 

“No,” Liam huffs and ducks away from her hand. “It’s for my writing homework. We have to write about ‘what is love?’”

Karen considers this rather philosophical for seven year-olds, but she rubs her chin thoughtfully anyway. “Well, I reckon it starts if they make you happy.” 

Liam nods. That makes sense. He edges forward to nick a chunk of carrot before his mum can slap his hand away. After a moment’s contemplative chewing, Liam pipes up, “Lou makes me happy.” 

Karen nods in encouragement. She picks up her knife again and returns to her dinner preparations. “And I think they make your life better than it was before.” 

No question there. “Lou makes Doncaster loads better than Wolverhampton,” Liam declares emphatically. 

“They make you a better person than you were before.” 

Liam mulls this over for a bit. The rhythmic thunk of the blade hitting the cutting board rings out like a metronome. “I help wash the dishes when I stay over at Lou’s for dinner?” he tries. 

“How about,” Karen hums to stall and order her thoughts.  _ You hold your head higher. You don’t crumple inwards at the slightest touch. You smile so brightly it’s a wonder you don’t blind Lou.  _ But she doesn’t think her son would quite understand all that, so she settles on, “You stick up for yourself more, now that Lou’s around. Haven’t had any trouble with the boys at school for weeks now, yeah?” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” Liam looks down at his toes, but Karen can still see his bashful smile. 

“Well, then I guess you already know how to tell if you love someone. What’re you doing asking me?” Karen jokes. She slides the last of the carrots into the pot on the hob. 

Liam beams and scampers off to find his journal for class. He sharpens his pencil and begins his assignment:  _ Love is the person who makes you happiest. They make you smile even when they kick a football at you and don’t say sorry. They give you half their Jaffa cakes even though Jaffa cakes are their favorite. They teach you how to act and feel brave for the first time. _ Liam chews on the eraser of his pencil before finishing his paragraph off with,  _ You can’t imagine your life without them.  _

Fourteen years later, Liam will amend his younger self’s definition of love. He can imagine his life without Louis. He has experienced it and affirmed that, before anything else, he is his own person. And fourteen years later, Liam will decide that, above all, love is a choice. Someone you have chosen to let in, to not live without, and to share half your sweets with. 


End file.
